


Sparrow

by Experi



Category: Fate/Grand Order
Genre: Character Study, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, M/M, look man i write for an audience of one (myself) and what i want is soft, this is my fic and i make the rules
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-10-05
Updated: 2018-10-05
Packaged: 2019-07-25 18:44:02
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,322
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16203428
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Experi/pseuds/Experi
Summary: Sometimes Robin feels like he's playing a very odd game of chess with himself, one where he's trying to lose and Hektor keeps moving the kingpiece.Featuring downtime and incredibly bad emotion-handling abilities from everyone.





	Sparrow

**Author's Note:**

> here's a fic called 'experi looks at their roster and picks who should hold hands with each other'  
> also, mash is a lesbian and theres nothing any of us can do about it.
> 
> with a lot of notes about basically "hektor is very good at other people and very bad at himself". this plot is like 90% just characters, AS ALWAYS with me. 
> 
> god i love hekrobi those are my BOYS.

**ORLEANS**

Robin hears someone approaching him without the clanking of armour that the soldiers around here wear. Not a scout, probably. But their footsteps are heavy, so someone who isn’t behaving as if they’re wary or lost. It’s best to be careful. He won’t abandon his work in progress here, but he will fit the crossbow to his forearm, clicking a bolt in with practiced speed and aiming it in the direction of the footsteps. Robin Hood waits, breath slowed almost to a standstill.

The person who emerges into the path doesn’t seem surprised at all to be greeted with a weapon. He just smiles benignly as Robin’s eyes widen. Why, of all people, Hektor is here, Robin has no clue. Master he would have expected more, were it not for the likelihood she’d get lost in the maze of trees. Hektor waves at him. “So that’s where you’ve been running off to. Becoming the advance guard.”

Robin sighs and places the crossbow back on the ground. This one doesn’t mean him any harm and there’s no need to pretend. To replace the crossbow’s loss, he drags over one of the poles he’d obtained and sets once more about carving it into a basic spear. Perhaps if he doesn’t look at Hektor, the other will vanish after presumably ensuring Robin is in one piece. 

Hektor doesn’t seem to be satisfied with knowing Robin is merely up to something. After the quiet stretches for some seconds, Robin gives up and snaps out a sentence. “Do you need something? I’m busy setting up.”

Instead of disappearing, Hektor sits down cross-legged opposite the archer. He procures a knife from one of the pockets on the back of his belt and pulls a still-unsharpened pole over towards himself. “No. I’ll help, though. How many are there?”

“One small company. I don’t need your help.”

A hum and nod of acknowledgement. “No, you don’t. But you can have it, and making things difficult for yourself is a needless effort.”

He has a point, which is the most vexing thing about it. Robin didn’t plan on having company out here, but he supposes that if he were to get stuck with anyone at this particular moment, Hektor isn’t the worst. He’s capable. And apparently, he knows how to be quiet as he falls silent and works with intent once Robin fails to offer any further protest to his presence.

It’s half an hour before either of them speak again. Most all of the spikes have been made, and once Hektor’s hands are free he reaches behind himself to fish something out of his pocket. “Do you smoke?” 

So the thing he was pulling out was tobacco and paper. Robin shakes his head. “Not at the moment.”

Hektor makes a noise of acknowledgement. He sets about rolling a cigarette, which Robin watches with mild interest until the procedure is finished and the match to light it has been waved out.

“Why are you here, doing this?” Robin slouches forward, though that is the only part of his posture that seems casual. His expression is set firm.

“Hn?”

“You’re a commander, a prince tactician, right?”

Hektor nods, exhaling smoke with an amused smile. “Someone’s been doing research.”

Robin waves the comment off. “You’re a warrior. Warriors don’t sit in the background doing this kind of coward’s work, they fight. But  _ you _ complain about working hard and then you’re here anyways. You’re the least sensical commander I’ve ever seen, which one would think would make you a pretty bad commander.”

The only thing he gets in reply is a laugh. Hektor draws himself up into a more proper sitting position with hands on his knees. “Hey, Robin Hood. Percentage-wise, how many of these enemy soldiers do you think you can knock out with this trapping you’re doing?”

Robin furrows his brows, calculating. “... Fifty percent at the most.”

“And you’re telling me that isn’t useful work to be proud of? You’re right, I was a commander, and as a commander, if I had someone tell me that one man could get rid of half a marching force  _ by himself, _ that is a man I would find absolutely indispensable. Because it means not only that the opposing army is hurt, but that the absolute minimum people of  _ mine _ are put in danger, and that my army has less dangers to worry about when the survivors of that force arrive to the battlefield.” Hektor points at Robin with the kind of obnoxious smile that seems as if it’s trying to say  _ checkmate _ . “I’m helping you because it’s work that’s best if it gets done. Coward’s work is running away. Smart work is doing things that keep allies safe.”

There’s a stretch of silence, then Robin grumbles indistinguishably and stands up. He brushes his hands off and turns to pick up a length of rope. Hektor assumes that’s the end of that and places his cigarette back in his mouth only to be surprised when Robin’s voice pipes up. “It’s still not hero’s work.” Robin thinks maybe that’s ignoble, but a bitterness blackens his tone nonetheless. Robin knows that as a heroic spirit, he is logically thus a hero-- but it would be nice for people to have treated him like it while he was alive. It would be nice if he could act like what people think a hero is, rather than simply doing what needs to be done from behind the scenes like a self-serving stagehand.

Hektor shrugs. “Sure. People like dramatic stories and noble battles, and half a battalion disappearing in the night is neither. But you know why it’s necessary, or you wouldn’t be out here. Now would you?” Robin doesn’t reply at all this time, just keeps his back to Hektor. That’s fair, Hektor thinks as he stands up as well.

“What else do you need done?”

Robin drags out the quiet. “Nothing tonight. I’m cleaning up. Traps will be set tomorrow.” The weather overnight doesn’t favour pitfalls, he can smell it on the breeze, and the army is far enough away that they shouldn’t make it here tonight. On top of that, the sun is almost down. It’s not just the shadow from the tree canopy that makes the ember of Hektor’s cigarette easy to distinguish.

A nod, which goes unseen and would be ignored even if it hadn’t. Hektor’s hands go to his hips as he watches Robin and mulls over his thoughts. It’s probably best for him to leave-- much as he doesn’t mind camping, he doubts Robin would appreciate his company if the other doesn’t get anything to go with it and it’s likely Master would get worried if they both disappeared. Hektor didn’t exactly tell her he’d be out for that long. He taps his boot on the ground. “It’s likely to rain tonight. You should stay at the inn with the rest of us.” It’s a point that Hektor doubts will work. This one’s a moth who’s smart enough to avoid the flame, or at least the inn’s fireplace. But he can hope things are simple, if only for the sake of Robin not making his own life more difficult than it needs to be. (But of course he won’t.)

Robin looks up at him, then back down at the rope he’s tying. “I’ll be fine.”

There’s the sound of movement, which Robin pointedly ignores. He doesn’t want to encourage Hektor, give any inclination that the guy’s allowed to hang around. That kind of thing always ends up oddly, people too close to him for comfort. Robin yanks the knot tight and considers his job here finished. All he’s got to do is keep the stakes in a bundle and hide them where they won’t be disturbed and perhaps tie a few snares if he feels like it. Hektor should be leaving in a moment, too, and then Robin’s free to find somewhere to--

A large swatch of heavy fabric gets swung around his shoulders. “The hell--?” Robin can’t decide if the instinct is to see what it is first or simply toss it off and ends up caught in an ineffectual mixture of the two. What it turns out to be is Hektor’s cloak, pin undone and slate-grey fabric crumpled a bit over Robin’s smaller frame. Robin frowns at Hektor. “I don’t need this.”

Hektor doesn’t seem affected. “It’s waterproofed better than yours. Naval grade. You don’t have to use it. Just take it. Indulge me, so I don’t worry and drag you back.” Hektor doesn’t move, he keeps his hands firmly on his hips and stupid smile firmly on his face. No concession to even act as if he’ll pick up the cloak if Robin drops it or throws it back at him. Which he could, very easily, just pitch the stupid thing at Hektor and leave it draped over his face. Robin wonders if the guy would be offended or even move if he did that-- somehow he feels as if Hektor would just laugh.

Robin grumbles and tucks Hektor’s cloak under his arm. “Fine.”

Hektor nods. “Thanks,” he says, as if he’s actually in the position to be thanking here. “We’ll see you tomorrow. Take care, forest bird.”

He turns, waves, and walks off in the direction of the village and Robin doesn’t dignify any of his nonsense with a reply. It doesn’t deserve anything like that. Instead, he waits until he can move entirely out of sight to pin the extra cloak properly around his shoulders with the logic that at least it’s easier to carry and move around with that way. It is indeed waterproofed better than Robin’s coat. It’s a heavy fabric, high quality-- something made for an army commander rather than something purchased once at a discount and touched up over the years. Of course it is. It smells like sea-salt and sawdust when Robin tucks it against his shoulder. He wishes to himself that Hektor would go away, disregarding the fact that he’s since disappeared behind a hill. But at least the cloak does as it’s intended when he layers it over his own in the tree fork he chooses to curl up against for the night.

* * *

Hektor returns to the inn to only moderate questioning what Robin is up to. Assuring the others that the archer’s fine, just a strange little bird, seems to be enough to at least quell questions. The subject doesn’t come up again until after Master is fed and everyone’s overnight situations have been sorted out. It’s Mash who speaks, a few rounds into a game of cards against Hektor (the shielder being the only one willing to indulge him in a game before he started trying to rope in strangers).

“I really don’t understand why Robin Hood is so intent on spending nights away from us. He seems to like us just fine when we’re traveling….” Mash trails off, looking through the playing cards in her hand with visible concern, as if the cards have the answer for her.

“Hm.” Hektor answers instead as he lays a pair of kings down on the table. “You’re young, especially compared to the rest of us. It will make sense to you eventually. There are plenty of ways to love something, and plenty of ways to interact with things you love. Robin’s is guarded, not that you can blame him.”

Mash frowns, avoiding Hektor’s gaze before she places her cards down and stares at him. It’s the frustrated but nervous kind of expression, he’s seen it before on her. There’s a lot she doesn’t get, but she’s determined to dig when it’s something too confusing. This is one of those times, apparently. She speaks with a frown, hesitating occasionally. “Master gave me an equally confusing answer, you know. But if you’re saying that he cares about us, doesn’t it make more sense to want to be around the people you care about?”

Mash is one that Hektor finds it difficult not to indulge. She’s straightforward, capable, a lovely soul determined to do a noble job. When faced with something like that he can’t help but cook up an answer, even if he feels it might be preferable to leave such explanations up to Robin-- just in case the other might not want it explained. Ah, but an old man is weak to the bright-eyed and curious. Hektor leans back in his chair. “I’ll see if I can make it sensible. So, hm. Mash, have you ever seen something that is very pretty, but very delicate? Like something of thin spun glass or an old bauble, where it’s a beautiful piece of craftsmanship but you can’t help but worry that if you knock it over, it would shatter.”

Mash nods slowly, watching him intently with an expression that says she follows but doesn’t quite get it. 

“With something like that, you understand it’s a beautiful thing that people have put a great amount of effort into. But you also understand that if you’re reckless or just slip, you very well could destroy it. There is also the idea that even if you touch it or tried to pick it up, you could break it or smudge the surface and tarnish it somehow, when you wouldn’t want to change it. Do you follow?”

Mash nods again. Hektor smiles at her.

“Good girl. To Robin, I get the feeling that other people are this fragile treasure. He likes them, but he doesn’t want to be disliked and he doesn’t want to disrupt anything, so he hides himself away and helps from the shadows.”

There’s a pause after Hektor finishes speaking, during which Mash crosses her arms and slumps forward over the table. “I thought that if you loved something, you would want to be around it  _ more _ , though.”

“You’re right. But people usually aren’t straightforward, and our Robin is a stubborn one.”

Mash sighs. “Sometimes I feel like I won’t ever figure out how people’s emotions work.”

Hektor laughs and reaches over to ruffle her hair affectionately. “Ah, you’ll get it eventually. And speaking of people and things one loves-- our Master is coming here. Can I guess you’d like me to offer dealing her in?”

Mash jerks up into a proper sitting position, her cheeks already going a stiff red at Hektor’s implication. It only makes him laugh more as he waves their Master over.

* * *

  
**SEPTEM**

Robin’s noticed by now that Hektor’s almost as likely to disappear as he is the second that the group has found a secure place to camp. When they’re in the wilderness or an army base’s tents, Hektor usually just sets himself up at a vantage point and declares himself a lookout. But when they’re at an inn or somewhere else fairly easy to secure, where Robin would expect him to just rest, like he would in Chaldea, he instead tends to vanish. Robin doesn’t know where to, just that he’s generally not in the bed allotted to him, and dematerializing is unlikely as they discovered that dematerializing in a singularity tends to make you re-materialize in Chaldea. 

So Robin’s curious, of course, and makes good on the curiosity when the group has chosen a guesthouse in a small Roman town to sleep in and Hektor’s vanished with some excuse or other shortly after the few other Servants retired to sleep. It’s easy to pull the May King cloak up and slip out entirely unobserved, though he doubts anyone would have stopped or questioned him even if he hadn’t used the presence concealment. Everyone appears to be rather lax in the group-- for good reason, there’s no reason for one of the contracted Servants to do anything that would hurt the group. If people want to wander, they’ll be back.

Robin pads through the hallway, the creaky wood flooring not making a single sound underneath his feet. There’s no one in the hallways, aside from one drunk man who, of course, doesn’t notice Robin at all. Robin marks his presence just in case, though doubts he’d end up a threat. Not really the Unified Empire’s style. There’s no one else until he gets outside and hears a quiet humming from around the back of the building. Robin follows the noise and happens upon Hektor, sitting against the back wall of the house, cross-legged and with the glint of a blade in his hands. He’s working on something, apparently, though Robin can’t tell what.

Sneaking up on him feels unnecessary and like a pretty good way to get that knife thrown between his eyes if he’s not careful, so Robin flicks the cloak off and shuffles his feet a bit more as he approaches. The quiet humming stops and Hektor turns to flick his gaze around the corner. Robin can see the knife move as Hektor changes his grip in a quick motion to how one would hold a weapon and very much feels that announcing his presence before he got too close was probably the best idea. Hektor’s gaze lands on him and just as quickly, his hand moves and the knife falls back. Hektor doesn’t greet him, but he does nod before he resumes whatever it is he’s doing, which Robin takes as permission to approach. As good as anything else.

He maintains the quiet as he walks up and stands next to Hektor. There’s no real need to say anything, since he came because he was curious rather than because he held any sort of message for the other. Upon inspection, Hektor’s carving wood.

Weird. Robin didn’t know the lancer knew how to do that.

Robin leans against the wall, looking downward curiously at Hektor. Hektor still doesn’t comment, just continues scraping the blob of wood in his hand. It’s shaped but only vaguely, just distinguishable enough as an animal of some sort. Robin speaks first, after realizing that Hektor is perfectly content to accept his company without anything said at any point.

“What is it?”

Hektor carves off a sliver of wood, shaping out and carefully notching horns with a symmetric pattern along the base. “An ox. The innkeeper here has a daughter, a little girl a few years old. She told me today that her daughter said the oxen that come through were her favourite, big and strong like her papa. It’s cute, don’t you think?” He grins up at Robin with the sort of open nostalgic fondness that Robin always notices on him when Hektor deals with small children. (It makes him wonder, sometimes, if Hektor had a kid himself once, before the Throne took him. Researching people’s battle skills seems okay, but personal lives are too prying and, usually, irrelevant and painful. Sometimes Robin wants to ask Hektor, but it seems too much to dredge up when Robin barely remembers any of his past to offer in exchange.)

Instead, he just tucks his hands into his pockets and frowns a little. “Yeah, but it’ll disappear once the singularity clears up. She won’t remember it. What’s the point?” It seems like too much, like it would hurt to try and be close and friendly to someone that will inevitably never remember you, someone who would probably forget you were there the day after you left the inn. Maybe Hektor’s figured out a way to make himself impervious, even as a ‘people person’. If he has, Robin would like to know, though he suspects it’s just a matter of thinking too differently from himself.

Hektor hums. “But while it’s still here, we’ll exist to her. And so will a toy. She’ll have something new, and something to play with, for as long as this will last. It’s hard times now, with soldiers everywhere. May as well brighten up a kid’s day and use my talent with a knife for something positive, for once.”

Robin watches him silently for a few seconds. (It’s a kind answer, too kind to come from a man living Hektor’s life, and Robin begins to suspect the answer to  _ why doesn’t Hektor think over the people who he won’t see again _ is  _ he does _ and Robin feels a little explanation for the odd sympathy he sometimes feels for the lancer.) But he doesn't explain that. Hektor probably already knows. Instead he just says something else Hektor already knows. “You’re a weird guy.”

Hektor snorts. “Yeah, yeah.”

It goes quiet again, just the sound of blade scraping wood and, occasionally, when Hektor seems to either forget Robin’s presence or decide to disregard it, a few notes of humming a tune Robin doesn’t know. Robin decides he doesn’t mind this. It’s nice, even though he’s a little sleepy he’s oddly pleased at how his venture turned out. He closes his eyes and breathes slowly for a minute or so.

Belatedly, he realizes he’s intruding. Technically. Though if Hektor cared he probably would have left already, but-- Robin looks over to the lancer again. “D’you care if I stay?”

Hektor shrugs. “Nah. You have to deliver the carving to the table the owner uses for me when I’m done, though.”

“Why?” He feels that she should at least know who it is who’s giving her things, mostly because Hektor is probably the  _ least _ suspicious character here, aside from Mash, who is less intimidating than Fou. If anyone’s going to make a good impression while giving a gift, Robin would guess it’d be Hektor. But instead, Hektor just shakes his head and raises a hand to scratch the bottom of his jaw in a show of discomfort.

“It’s embarrassing….”

Robin can’t help but snicker, which only gets worse when Hektor looks at him with a flustered betrayal. “I’m shocked that you’re capable of being embarrassed,” Robin attempts to justify himself with. He coughs a little, readjusts himself like he wasn’t just sniggering like an idiot. A small cough. “...But alright.” He’ll indulge the other, just this once. He can pretend like he was involved at all in someone being nice. Sure.

* * *

           **OKEANOS**

Okeanos is weird. Hektor has odd half-memories of it when he sleeps here, and there’s that weird sad look in the other Hektor’s eyes that he can’t help but feel he’s probably mirroring. (It scares him more than he’d like to think about, what this iteration of himself knows that he doesn’t. They aren’t connected. He doesn’t know what the Hektor on Jason’s ship knows, what else they’re planning, and from what point in his own past or future that form of him comes from.)

This is to say nothing of the reality he’s found himself in, where Ritsuka doesn’t let him fight his mirror so that things can be kept straight, where he has to work on knocking down the human pirates while watching his allies forced to fight back against his own blade. It’s a special kind of guilt and nausea that comes from seeing himself genuinely try to murder his friends-- and, worst of all, understanding why he’s doing it. Hektor can’t blame this… other himself. It makes sense to act this way, just as it makes sense for them to try and avoid fighting each other and feel this sort of miasmic sickness about the whole deal.

Or, at least, he assumes that much.

After the instance where the other Hektor backstabbed Teach, Hektor started getting more than a few open stares of suspicion from Drake’s own crew. He can’t blame them. Even now, after he’s fought for them and bled for the defense of his allies, he still isn’t trusted. Or maybe it’s just that he’s not trusting  _ himself _ any more, wary of whatever his future is, that he’s beginning to project that paranoia onto the other Servants and Ritsuka as well as the human sailors. He keeps clear of them, because if he just appears when there’s a battle and hides himself away otherwise, he doesn’t have to deal with anyone being suspicious of him. He just has to deal with his own head, and that’s normal. 

There was a fight today. Almost predictably, he disappeared shortly after. He takes up residence in the crow’s nest. The sailor already there gave him a look like he was about to protest, but something about Hektor’s exhausted expression and defeated shrug was enough to assure him that the lancer, at least, wasn’t going to do anything here and tonight. Hektor sits there, cloak pulled tight about his shoulders, lights a cigarette, and divides his attention between watching the waves and watching the people on the deck below recuperate after the fight.

Even from the height, it’s easy to pick people out. Drake’s whining about something, probably. Ritsuka’s standing next to her, tying a bandage around a glancing bullet wound on her arm.

There’s only one Caster on her team as of yet, who is feeling like he’s losing track of things. He’s not supposed to be a medic, just because he’s got spells. Cú clucks his tongue in annoyance and shoos away a sailor who wants to take a shortcut with the healing process. He calls for Ritsuka’s attention, trying to make sure that he’s actually accounted for everyone who needs it. “Hey, where did Hektor run off to? I haven’t been able to check on him yet.” Cú glances about the deck in mild confusion. The rest of the team he’s seen to, and Ritsuka and the lone medically-trained sailor seem to have the human components of the ship accounted for. Just that ones gone… he grumbles something under his breath before a hand waves in front of him.

“I’ll go find him.”

“Huh?” Cú brings his attention back to right in front of him and notices Robin there, healed aside from a few bruises. Cú nods. “Oh. Yeah, if he’s fucked up tell him to come visit me, Master’s orders. I’m guessing he’s fine if he’s not here, but--” Cú waves a hand vaguely. Robin nods at him, then turns and vanishes once more.

(As a sailor taps his shoulder and asks in rough demanding speech for ‘one o’ them healin’ things’, Cú feels a little envious of the May King.)

Robin makes a rough guess and heads for whichever places he feels he would go to in order to avoid people. There aren’t very many on a ship, no matter how large it may be. It’s still contained. The first few places are populated only by people Robin’s not looking for, but once he spies a faint ember glowing up near the mast, he’s got a guess.

Ships are not Robin’s forte. He can climb trees and he can climb turrets, but climbing a pole in the middle of the ocean is something else and something he’s displeased to discover he likes a  _ lot _ less. But he makes it up anyways, and with the king’s cloak around him he’s decently insulated against the breeze.

He hops over the side of the watchout’s railing, and Hektor doesn’t turn to indicate he’s noticed him. He doesn’t move at all, and Robin assumes he’s snuck in easily. If that’s all, he can at least tell Cú and Ritsuka that Hektor’s in one piece, or… something. He’ll decide what to do before he reappears. At least not being noticed gives him time to think.

“Hi, Robin,” Hektor says anyways, throwing Robin for a magnificent loop in a record low of two words.

“How the fuck did you know I was here?” A seemingly disembodied voice floats out of the air somewhere around his left. If Hektor looks at it out of the side of his eye, there’s the vague suggestion of what might be a ghost standing there.

“Well, first of all, you replied when I said that.”

The ghost scowls deeply at him, then flicks his hood off, canceling the effects of its ability, so that Hektor can see his scowl in perfect colour and clarity. Hektor smiles at him. “I was expecting someone, and there was movement of ropes that didn't follow the wind.”

All he gets in return is a shake of the head and Robin sitting heavily next to him. “You look like shit,” Robin informs him helpfully. “Master’s got a command spell still and can heal you up, or Cú wants you to come be the subject of some runes.”

Hektor just makes a noncommittal noise and resumes looking out over the sea. “I’d rather she not waste it. I can heal too, just slower.”

Robin is not amused. “You’ll be in the next fight. Let one of them fix you up. And if you won’t go to them, then you’ll have to deal with me healing you, since you can’t run from me up here.”

“It’s a waste of mana and someone else’s time.” Hektor does a good job of sounding like he’s not pouting, though something in his comportment seems petulant. He takes a drag of his cigarette, almost burned down to a nub, and exhales before he tries again to rebuff Robin. “Besides, you don’t even know any healing spells, do you?”

“No, but it’s not like magic is the only way of doing things.”

Robin pulls a small jar from somewhere within his cloak, then passes it over to Hektor. It looks like something once stolen from Romani and repurposed, a little jar about the size of his his hand, wider than it is tall. He unscrews the top and frowns at the contents-- something green and smelling like grass. “Dulls pain,” Robin informs him. “And makes bruising go away, should help the healing process go faster, too. Half of the ingredients are stuff I knew how to make, half is Roman’s suggestions since I was co-opting his stuff. It works pretty well when I’m out hunting by myself and get hurt doing something stupid. Just put it on whatever’s worse.”

Hektor contemplates it, before sighing in defeat. He’s not going to get out of this, really. “Yeah, thanks.” The cigarette he’d been smoking gets stubbed out on the wooden floorboards before it gets down to singeing his lip. His armour dematerializes with a weird loss of weight on his arm-- odd, not to have the metal plating coating half of him and Hektor prods something grass-scented onto the dark purple bruising around his elbow, a side effect of letting his lance knock against the armour as much as necessary to disperse the blowback. He doesn’t flinch at it, since he’s rather used to the bruises being there, but Robin makes an impressed noise at the colour. That’s all he attends to before handing the jar back to Robin, who at least doesn’t press him further. That was all that might affect the motion of his weapon in a fight and that disengaging wouldn’t help take care of quickly, and whatever the hell was in Robin’s jar does seem to be doing a rather quick job of dulling the pain in his arm to an easily ignorable throbbing.

Robin nods at him, satisfied. “Leave it for an hour.”

Hektor pouts. “That’s a long time.”

“Do you want me to make it two?”

“I don’t think that’s how medicine works. Where’d you get your medical education, quack?” Hektor complains, and Robin pops him lightly upside the head.

“The school of hard knocks, now shut up.”

Hektor laughs at that, and Robin feels a little lighter. Hektor also shuts up, which is probably for the best. He stays shut up even while he rolls himself another cigarette and lights it. This time, Robin asks to share. It seems easier here than in Orleans. Robin chooses not to contemplate that much, he’ll just take the offered cigarette and sit here with his friend or whatever the hell Hektor is to him and just make sure everyone’s all in one piece.

Maybe there’s a bias, but he’s ignoring it for now.

Hektor isn’t, because Hektor is incapable of ignoring most things. He notices more than he discusses, but he does Robin the good grace of letting him think things are ignored until his cigarette is halfway burned down and there’s been no motion from either of them to leave. “How come you came up here?” Hektor asks.

Robin mumbles something inarticulately at him. Well, if that’s the answer he’s going to get, then Hektor won’t push it. He just turns his gaze back to the ocean, watching nothing in particular somewhere in middle distance.

He’s almost forgotten he’d asked anything when Robin answers him. “You went looking for me back in Orleans when I was trying to run away. So I came to look for you here and remind you that you’re allowed to stay with the others. It’s weird, but we aren’t mad at you or anything.” Robin doesn’t look at Hektor when he talks. Hesitantly, with a jerky stop midway through the motion, Robin reaches over and pulls Hektor into half a hug. Hektor nods. 

Strange, he thinks, he used to be better at acting.   


* * *

 

**CHALDEA**

Most Servants are impervious to the weather. It's very convenient, actually, especially considering their base is located in the middle of nowhere, Antarctica. It's an interesting place to be, though Hektor's passionate hatred of the cold means that he'd find it deeply unpleasant if he weren't blessed with the inability to feel much more than 'mildly chilly' when he wanders outside. As it is, sometimes he winds up on the roof or outdoor observation decks when the wind isn't bad. There's sometimes company, sometimes not, though he's hardly opposed to striking up conversations if the chance arises.

In this case, he'd like a conversation but isn't really sure who to go to, and has settled for the outdoors as a whole.He'd hunt down Robin, but feels that would be intruding, and the other candidates for him to bother seem no more likely to be desiring Hektor's presence at the moment. In the interim, there's something currently appealing about the piled snow, a muted reality that he'd like to borrow some of the emptiness from. 

But fate gives him some luck, for once. A familiar green figure is standing on one of the observation decks that Hektor passes by; he notices and double-takes. Huh. It's reason enough to bother Robin, the fact that the coincidence occurred at all, and so he lets himself outside on this particular vantage point and wanders over to the archer.

Robin gives him a nod and quiet hello when he approaches.

“What are you doing out here?”

“Ask yourself that,” Robin answers with a critically raised eyebrow. He’s not the odd one out here, now is he. Robin's the one known for lurking. But nonetheless, a proper answer is given. He’ll be nice. “This place is pretty when it's quiet.” It’s something foreign to Robin, the wide swaths of meters-deep pristine snow outside Chaldea. With the sun obscured behind clouds, already low with the winter's perpetual nighttime, the glittering of the snow is pleasant rather than blinding. It feels like he’s standing inside a painting when it’s like this, like reality isn’t quite where he is.

It’s easy to think here, too. Just exist in the sort of quiet space that’s barely even found within solitude. Hektor asks nothing further of him and Robin returns the favour, resuming his idle meditation of watching the snow.

Hektor’s quiet. When Robin glances at him, he’s still just looking out over the landscape, propped against the railing with a somehow lost expression on his face. It doesn’t seem to belong there, not on Hektor. Robin knows that most, if not all, Servants have their own pasts and complications, it’s rarely someone find the throne who’s straightforward and jovial and Hektor must have his own plagues, but still.

He looks lonely, Robin realizes in an epiphany. That’s why-- ah, what an idiot. He should have just come out with it. Robin sighs through his nose. “You’re useless,” he says as he strides over to Hektor. He flops against the lancer’s side with heavy weight and the distinct impression of a greater purpose. “If you want something, you should just say what it is.”

Hektor leans his head against Robin’s, his hand finding the archer’s and loosely linking their  fingers together. “Sorry. You’re right.” That’s enough for him, for now, the feeling of body heat and the motion of someone else breathing. That’s enough. Robin exhales and the wariness falls out of his shoulders.

“Jeez, I can’t even tease you when you’re like this.”

“What a shame.”

At least Hektor’s voice seems to have regained some of the lightness it was missing.

“You can come directly to me next time you're lonely, y'know. It's alright.”

Hektor winces. “I'm not--" but Robin goes him a sharply skeptical glare that cuts off any protest.  “-- Yeah.” Hektor agrees subdued, closing his eyes and resting his head against Robin's. “Alright.”

* * *

 

Hektor does come to him when he’s lonely. And other times too, whenever he feels the inclination, which is often. Robin doesn’t begrudge him for it, and he’s already pretty used to his company. He only expects the favour be returned when Robin seeks him out, and it invariably is. They don’t always talk or even do anything, sometimes Hektor appears in his room with a book about something or other and is perfectly content to study history in the corner while Robin amuses himself with whatever he had been doing before Hektor came in.

It’s just comfortable, which is weird, because Robin is usually very much not comfortable with other people being close to him. It’s just Hektor in particular, he feels, who doesn’t bring up that particular genre of wariness.

Hektor is also one of the most tactile people Robin’s ever hung around. He doesn’t know when or why he started occasionally sharing a bed with Hektor, he just did, and it seemed a perfectly logical sequel to Hektor’s cavalier disregard for personal space. Not sleeping together with sex, just sometimes Hektor appeared and fell asleep just about on top of Robin, and then Robin discovered that Hektor was not only rather comfortable once the armour was out of the way, but also had the average body temperature of a space heater, and it just became a thing they did sometimes.

_ Gross _ , Robin thinks, his cheek pressed against Hektor’s shoulder with his eyes half-open. God forbid anyone ever think him domesticated. Ignore the fact that he’s zoning out half on top of someone else, who happens to be idly fiddling with his hair like he’s some kind of oversized housecat. Never mind the fact that he actually rather likes it.

He thought Hektor was mostly asleep, too (if anyone could sleep while still paying attention to a person on top of them, it’d be Hektor), until there’s a noise. “Mn. Forest bird, I might love you.”

There goes that. Robin stiffens immediately, even the motion of his breathing seeming to freeze for a second. He looks up at Hektor with the glint Hektor would expect in a rabbit backed into a corner. Hektor smooths his thumb over Robin’s hair in what he hopes is vaguely apologetic. Robin holds his stare. “Don’t do that. Don’t say it, either.”

“Why not?”

“I’m not here to be loved. We’re soldiers. Don’t.”

“Hm. I will anyways.” Hektor cards his fingers again through Robin’s hair, entirely casual.

“Don’t you know my story? I’m not even  _ the _ Robin Hood, I’m a man without a face or a name who got this title from the throne at the cost of knowing who I ever was. How is a faceless person supposed to hold on to anything?” He speech fades into a whisper by the final question, and Hektor is once again reminded that there are plenty of things that caused Robin’s self-isolation, but he is also rather determined not to be one of them.

Hektor hums. “I know. But you’re still here, and I still like you, and I can hold for both of us.”

There’s a long pause, during which Robin does not particularly relax. Hektor assumes he’s let it drop for now, to remain an awkward feature of the atmosphere until it’s dragged back out and dealt with later. But eventually, Robin glances down, then back up at him. “You’re stubborn. Even more so than Master.” Robin speaks with an annoyed huff, glaring at Hektor with furrowed brows. 

Hektor, for his part, remains remarkably unaffected. It’s like a concession, that Robin just has to finish convincing himself he’s allowed to agree. Hektor just continues his idle activity of playing with Robin’s bangs. “If we’re not stubborn, you stay hidden.”

“It’s annoying.  _ You’re _ annoying. You always pester me.”

“You’re worth pestering. I like being around you.”

This is frustrating, and stupid, and Robin wishes Hektor would just take the  _hint_ instead of being so resolutely himself. Another try, which Hektor again ignores:  “You hardly ever act like you’re taking anything seriously.”

“You’re kinder than you want us to think you are.”

Robin frowns at him before hoisting himself up onto his elbow. Hektor doesn’t act, just watches. If he wants to leave, that’s Robin’s decision-- but he doesn’t. Instead Robin pulls into a sitting position, tossing a leg over Hektor’s chest to straddle his midsection and glare down at him. “I could kill you at any point. Subterfuge is my specialty and you let your guard down around me where I could shove a knife into your back any time I want.”

Hektor speaks carefully, voice soft. “You could, but you won’t.” This is where he suspected things would end up eventually. For some reason, when walls go down, there’s never a leaving without rubble. The worry isn’t about Robin hurting him, it hasn’t been that from the start and it isn’t now, even against the flash of emotion in Robin’s stare. 

“How do you  _ know _ ? You can’t be certain.” Robin places his hands over Hektor’s throat as if to prove the statement, how easy it would be to simply choke him. (Even though it wouldn’t, if Hektor really wanted to he could simply toss Robin bodily aside and they both know this, but it’s the only indicator of a threat Robin has left to him.) He doesn’t press, keeping his weight supported firmly without anything pushing down on Hektor’s throat. He feels the ridge of a scar over Hektor’s carotid, and the rise-fall of Hektor swallowing. Hektor doesn’t move, even though his instinct is to grab Robin’s wrists and shove away. Hektor just smiles, and Robin feels as if he’s been checkmated, on a board he weighted horribly heavily against himself.

“If you wanted to harm me, you would have done so by now. But we’re under the same master. Killing an ally is nonsense. If you wanted to kill me to remove me from your reality here, you know already that telling me to leave would do the same thing without the risk.” Robin Hood stares down at Hektor, brows furrowed and expression as if he’s trying valiantly to keep up a front, to hold something back. Hektor reaches up and places a hand on his cheek, brushing thumb over cheekbone. “I trust you, Robin.”

Robin stares and bites his lip with a frustrated worry, and then he crumples. He folds down over Hektor, hands leaving the other’s throat to curl harmlessly in the sheets. When he buries his head against Hektor’s, it’s the same smell of salt and wood as before from his cloak. Hektor’s arms circle Robin in a  hug and Robin feels the other hum more than hears it.

“Fine,” Robin mutters. “You win. I hate tacticians.”

“It’s not a battle,” Hektor replies with soft amusement.

Sometimes, Robin thinks, it feels like one. Mostly just one he’s staged against himself. But if it is, and if he’s lost, it doesn’t feel that bad. Maybe a little nice, as he feels Hektor turn and kiss his temple. Maybe he'll allow it.

 

**Author's Note:**

> be proud of me, i wrote and finished a fate fic that wasn't pwp  
> not like that'll last for long


End file.
